


Lay My Body Down

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Established Relationship, Galra Keith (Voltron), M/M, Magic, Riding, Top Shiro (Voltron), Vampire Shiro (Voltron), Vampire Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 17:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17187626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: When a mission to clear out a vampire nest on the moon base Syturbol goes wrong, Keith has two options: leave the man he loves to die or kill him before he becomes a vampire.Of course, there's also the third option.





	Lay My Body Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Azartti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azartti/gifts).



> Fic request from [Tati](https://twitter.com/azartti), who asked for vampire sheith AU. Thank you so much for the request! ♥  
> 

The air on Syturbol is murky at best— limited visibility and leaving Keith’s lungs rattling for a clear breath. But he still sees the moment Shiro falls to his knees. Keith’s vision burns red as he pivots through an attack against a vampire, turning his head in time to see another swoop down onto Shiro. Blood pours out from an open wound on Shiro’s shoulder and he watches him flinch, watches him grip his sword tighter and keep fighting from the ground. But Keith knows that flex of his jaw, that flicker in his eyes—

And Keith feels the moment his pupils slit, the moment his fangs dig into his bottom lip around a snarl, the moment he shifts from Human to Galra. He’s on that vampire in an instant and the air smells like blood and ash, and if the alien vampire shrieks at him, he doesn’t hear it over the roar in his ears. His blade swoops in an arc, cleaving into the alien and splitting him easily. The vampire crumbles and doesn’t move but there are others to replace it, swarming them like wasps. 

Shiro’s kicks his foot out to catch one at the back of the knees and sends him stumbling into Keith’s blade. They’ve always fought like this, side by side, and for a bright moment Keith assures himself that Shiro’s going to be okay, because he’s always okay and Keith’s always there to protect him. He swings the arc of his blade and catches a vampire before it can stab into Shiro’s back, pulled by the smell of Shiro’s blood. 

And his blood is a siren’s call for all the vampires around them. They’re deep in a nest— nothing they can’t handle and nothing they haven’t handled before, but they underestimated the sheer number of starving, crazed vampires in this sector. It’s not the first time Shiro and Keith have been on their own in such a fight, and they’re attuned enough to one another’s fighting style to assist and capitalize, but Shiro’s injury is slowing him down. He keeps pressing his hand in tight to his shoulder, trying to block the heavier flow. 

Keith snarls at the vampires, pivoting and planting himself in front of Shiro, between him and the impending attack. He thinks Shiro might say his name, a warning, but Keith ignores it— will always put himself between Shiro and anything that might want to harm him. He’s done so ever since the first day they met, when a young, low-level hunter stood between a hoard of vampires and a foolish orphan, refusing to back down until he was safe. Keith still remembers the way Shiro looked, tall and broad-shouldered, silhouetted by the sun, somehow still handsome while covered in blood.

He can smell the tang of Shiro’s blood and can only guess what it must be like for these frenzied vampires, gone too long without feeding and unable now to control themselves. New vampires, especially, are always dangerous; but hungry, starving vampires are the most frantic, far beyond reason and nothing more than a husk of whatever species they once were. That was always the painful part— where otherwise rational people succumbed too far and too deep to ever come back out again. 

Keith’s hand doesn’t tremble where he holds the blade and he doesn’t hesitate when he sweeps through the incoming creatures. 

He hears Shiro cry out behind him and when he jerks around to look, he watches a vampire’s claws digging into Shiro’s back, its teeth into his neck. A cold dread slams through Keith but his response is immediate: he swivels and slams his heel hard into the creature’s face. It lets go of Shiro with a shriek of distress, curling away. Shiro’s scrambling to his feet, but he’s sluggish and it’s slow, too much blood pouring out over the hand that presses hard against his shoulder. He looks pale. He should be moving sharper, should be barking out commands or quips to Keith as he always does. 

Their eyes meet and Keith’s grip on his sword tightens. He knows he blacks out, fueled on only by a desire to protect Shiro, to finish the task they’d been assigned.

To get Shiro to safety. 

When he comes to, it’s to the smell of putrid blood and to the sight of the bodies all around them. Keith trembles, but not with any regret, but for fear— he turns and seeks Shiro out. He’s still on his knees, curled into himself, his breathing labored. When Keith gets close enough to him, he’s trembling. 

He kneels before Shiro, his hands still clawed but gentle when they touch Shiro’s cheeks, studying his face. True to form, Shiro tries to smile, but his eyes are glassy and he’s breathing heavy. Keith’s hands start to shake. 

Keith blinks rapidly to clear his vision, can feel the shift away from Galra to Human. Shiro comes back into a duller focus, Human eyesight inferior to Galra, but his vision doesn’t swim and he doesn’t feel light-headed, as often happens when he shifts so suddenly. 

He pulls Shiro to him, holding him, his hands pressing down hard against his shoulder to try to stop the flow of blood. His hands are stained red, along with Shiro’s, and it’s all too much. The air utterly reeks of it, and Shiro is cold in his arms. 

“It’s going to be alright, Shiro. I’m going to protect you,” Keith says, fiercely. 

And Shiro smiles at him, his face deathly pale, and he whispers, “You always do.”

His breath is a kiss against Keith’s cheek and it sounds too much like a goodbye, like some sort of farewell, and the terror stampedes through Keith, refuses to settle. _No._

He rears back and scoops Shiro up. Jostling makes Shiro flinch in pain, but he bites back any sound and lets Keith manhandle him— he couldn’t protest even if he wanted to, Keith thinks, can feel how weak he is in his arms and that’s _not how it’s supposed to be._

The fear inside him twists and coils and he can’t do this, can’t let this happen— this was just another run-of-the-mill moon base. They _knew_ Syturbol would be overrun with ravaged vampires, they were prepared, they’re the best hunters in the Blade of Marmora and it wasn’t going to be anything but in an in-and-out. That’s what they were told. This is just another day for them, traveling across the galaxy and stamping out vampiric factions. It was nothing. They didn’t even need a full team for this, and now—

And now Shiro’s bleeding out in his arms. Shiro, the only thing in the entire universe that matters, the only one who’s always had Keith’s back, who’s helped train him and made him a better person, who’s protected him and believed in him, who’s loved him and been by his side for as far back as Keith wants to remember, and—

The Blade of Marmora might be devoted to protecting the universe, but Keith’s only ever put Shiro first. And now with Shiro trembling and bleeding in his arms, Keith sees only his own failure. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, his voice too soft, almost swept away in the murky, claustrophobic atmosphere of this moon. 

Keith holds Shiro and carries him back towards their ship, nearly tripping in his haste. He can’t afford to hesitate. On their ship— a smaller one, built for smaller missions like this, equipped with the bare minimum— Keith sets Shiro down on the medbay bed and rips his senior Blade uniform down off his shoulders and chest, letting it pool at his hips. He steps back and starts ripping through the first aid console, grabbing at the antidote to stabilize the vampiric venom and the hypo-spray to clot his wound. 

In the familiar light of their ship, Shiro’s injuries sharpen into a pained focus. Not just his shoulder, but other wounds over his body, the claw marks at his back, the bite at the base of his neck. There’s a slash of a vampire’s claw across his nose that will likely scar. 

Shiro sits and curls into himself, his eyes half-lidded. He doesn’t move, even as Keith scatters things across the floor in his haste, making a mess. Shiro closes his eyes and Keith flings himself to his side, already unsnapping the cylindrical container with the anti-venom and smearing it over the bite. Shiro’s veins stain that sickly purple where the venom’s already coursing through him, but the anti-venom races after it. The hypo-spray, though, doesn’t take. Shiro just keeps bleeding. He looks so pale. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, desperate. 

Shiro’s only response is to uncurl one hand where it desperately grips the edge of the bed and lift to touch Keith’s cheek. He smears blood along the cut of his cheekbone and Keith watches Shiro’s expression flicker. 

“It’s going to be okay, baby,” Shiro tells him and Keith _aches_ , pushes around the tremble in his heart and tries the hypo-spray again.

“Don’t talk like that,” he demands, wrenching his face away from Shiro’s hand. Shiro doesn’t protest, letting his hand drop down to grip at his shoulder. Every breath Shiro exhales, the weight of his words— it’s too much like a goodbye. It isn’t going to happen. 

Keith dives back into the supply console, slamming his way past low-level pain-killer and bone-resetters. He can only hear Shiro behind him, attuned to him, listening to the rattle of his shaky breath. He hears Shiro swallow a little groan of pain as Keith seizes a new hypo-spray. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, when that still doesn’t take. “Look at me.” 

Keith bites his lip, wants to refuse, but he can deny Shiro nothing. He looks up at him and finds Shiro’s eyes, gentle but glassed-over, watching him. He smiles, and it’s shaky and, Keith supposes, meant to be reassuring. 

“I just—” Keith begins, fumbling with the hypo-spray.

“Keith,” Shiro says again, and catches his hands with his, cupping Keith’s together between them. There’s a finality to his words when he asks, “Just stay with me?” 

“ _No_.” Keith’s eyes prickle with angry tears and he ducks his head even as he can’t quite manage to yank his hands away from Shiro’s. His hold and touch are so loose, so cold, it’d be so easy to pull back, but— “No,” he says again, voice breaking. “I can’t. _Shiro._ ” 

Shiro’s expression splinters and he lets go of Keith’s hands only to curl his arms around Keith and pull him in against the medbay bed. He stretches out and falls back, slowly, and takes Keith with him. It’s almost too familiar to the way they sleep, Keith tucked into Shiro’s side like he’s always belonged there, and tears make his vision swim. He buries his face against Shiro’s neck, his breath shaking. The room smells like Shiro’s blood and Keith hates how cold Shiro feels against him. 

“Baby,” Shiro murmurs, after a moment, and Keith tenses, not wanting to hear it. “The anti-venom didn’t take. I’m bleeding too much.” 

“No,” Keith says, before Shiro can say the next part. 

“You’re going to have to leave me behind or kill me,” Shiro says, and his voice is so calm, too calm, and it’s only because Keith knows him, knows the way his hands tremble at his shoulders, that he knows Shiro is terrified. His voice wavers once and then steadies, “You have to, Keith.”

“ _No,_ ” Keith says, fierce, and tightens his hold on Shiro, even when Shiro flinches. “I’m not leaving you. Never.” 

“You know what will happen if you don’t. I’ll never forgive myself if I hurt you,” Shiro whispers. 

They knew the risks, joining a group dedicated to hunting vampires. And they know the risk of an untreated bite, of someone being turned. The protocol is clear. Keith can’t count the number of seminars and lectures he’s sat through outlining each step, each scenario. 

Keith ignores it all. 

He sits up enough to glare at Shiro, and he can see the fear in Shiro’s eyes. Not fear for himself, for the life leeching out of him, but fear for what he might do to Keith. Keith’s hands clench at Shiro’s chest. 

Clarity settles inside him like an anchor, buoying him to the spot just above Shiro. He looks at Shiro— studies his face. Shiro meets his eyes as best he can, tries to look brave for Keith’s sake. It’s laughably easy to see through it. That steadies Keith all the more.

He thinks of the last capsule tucked at the back of the medkit— a last resort. 

With effort, he pulls himself away from Shiro and stands. The sound Shiro makes shatters Keith’s heart, a primal emptiness with Keith gone from his side, but Keith fights the urge to go back to him and instead digs into the back of the console and grasps the small, innocuous blue capsule. 

“Keith,” Shiro says as soon as he sees what’s in Keith’s hand. “You can’t.” 

Keith walks past him and starts digging through the surrounding consoles, seeking a container. There’re no glasses down in medbay and he doesn’t have enough time to get to where they store their food and supplies. His hands are shaking too much, enough so that he nearly drops the capsule. 

“Keith,” Shiro says again, voice pained— trying to speak louder than he can manage. Still, there’s the air of authority there— that same voice he uses to teach the new recruits, the same voice that once skyrocketed Keith’s heart into his throat, fearing he’d disappointed his new friend and mentor. Shiro presses, “You can’t. I— I can’t ask you to do this. What you’re signing up for—” 

“I know,” Keith answers, without hesitation. Shiro’s words aren’t a direct refusal, a disgust— and that’s a good sign. He finds a plastic sleeve used for fluids and grabs it, turning back towards Shiro. “And I don’t care. I promised you a long time ago, Shiro— wherever you go, I’m following.” He sucks in a deep breath, fights back the tears pressing at the backs of his eyes. “There’s no universe without you. Don’t you get that?” 

Shiro’s expression pinches and he ducks his head, heaving in an unsteady breath. Keith’s back at his side immediately, touching his face. He lifts him up and leans in, kissing him long and slow, tugging out a soft gasp from Shiro’s throat. He’s so cold against his hands. He _has_ to do this. 

“Tell me no and—” Keith can’t finish the thought. Knows he’ll go against Shiro’s wishes, immediately, if it means that Shiro will _live._ “Shiro, is this really how you want it to end?”

Shiro lets out an unamused laugh, pained and bitter. “What kind of question is that?” He looks up at him, his eyes swimming with tears. “I don’t want to die, Keith. But I don’t want to damn you to this.” 

“Please tell me in what reality I’d consider it _damning_ to spend an eternity with you?” Keith asks him, almost teasing despite the situation. 

Shiro doesn’t answer. He looks utterly gutted. Keith sighs and reaches for him. 

He touches his cheek, wiping away a stripe of blood. “I love you.” 

That’s his answer and there’s no response Shiro can give against it, other than to sigh, blink back his tears, and whisper, “I love you, too. Always.” 

Keith nods and retrieves his discarded blade. He drops the capsule into the plastic sleeve and then digs his blade deep into his arm. His blood wells up immediately and he _hears_ Shiro’s sharp inhale, can already see the licks of hunger in his eyes— it won’t be long before he starts to transform. Keith must hurry. 

Keith lets the blood pool on his arm before he tips it into the sleeve, mixing the capsule with his blood. The capsule dissolves and he can smell the tang of magic wafting out of the plastic sleeve. 

He turns to Shiro, who tenses up. The bleeding is slowing but at this stage, it’s a bad sign. Keith swallows, shaking the plastic sleeve so the capsule fully dissolves, mixing with his blood. 

“If something goes wrong, promise me you’ll—” Shiro begins.

“You aren’t getting a promise like that from me, so don’t even try,” Keith cuts him off. He sets himself down at Shiro’s side, brushing the hair from his face. His expression softens, despite his fear, despite his anger at this entire situation. “Shiro,” he murmurs. “It’s going to be okay. Trust me.”

Something eases in Shiro’s eyes as he closes them. Keith cups the back of his head, lifting him up enough to help him drink. The plastic sleeve isn’t ideal for drinking, but he does his best, funneling his blood into Shiro’s open mouth. Shiro flinches at the first taste but he swallows it. His face twists up, but Keith makes him drink the last of it. 

Shiro’s breathing hard by the time he pulls back. Keith keeps his hand at the back of his head. 

For a moment, nothing happens. They both know of this ritual, but he isn’t sure how it might change the transformation. Shiro looks skittish, too cold to the touch but perhaps more lucid than he was a moment ago. 

When the transformation begins, it’s without warning. One moment, Shiro is sitting there, uncertain and quiet, and the next, he’s buckling into himself and _screaming._ Keith knows the transformation is painful, but hearing Shiro’s agony is too much, threatens to rip him apart in turn as Shiro claws at himself, trying to escape his own body. His shoulders heave and there’s blood everywhere. Keith _sees_ the moment Shiro’s warm grey eyes burn into an unyielding gold, the moment fangs pierce his bottom lip and send him bleeding. His black hair slashes with white. Claws threaten to shred through his own skin. When Keith reaches for him, Shiro lashes out, his claws dragging down hard over Keith’s cheek, enough to scar. Keith grabs his wrists and holds him down and Shiro shouts, writhing on the medbay bed and trying to wrench himself free. His body ripples in pain and he snarls, eyes pinning on Keith. Soon, his movements are less to get away and more to get to Keith, to rip him apart from the throat outward, to sink into him. 

“I know,” Keith tells him, voice drowned out by Shiro’s snarling, his face twisted into something animalistic, eyes wild and teeth bared. “I know, Shiro. It’s going to be okay—”

Shiro hisses, spits, tries to yank himself free. It’s only Keith’s Galra strength that keeps Shiro pinned down, that keeps Shiro from lurching up and ripping Keith apart. Shiro’s eyes are glazed, wild and burning, no recognition as he snarls at Keith. All his instincts shove at him, fuel him on to get to Keith. Keith’s blood will call out to him now, more than just a vampire to its prey, but _deeper_ , a bond Keith willingly entered himself into— the only prey, his alone. 

All of Keith’s instincts scream for him to run, to fight, to get away at the same time his heart aches to pull Shiro to him, to cradle him, to banish everything that would ever hurt him. His distress boils inside him and he feels his shift into his Galra features, holding back his own cries of agony watching Shiro’s. His hands tremble where they hold Shiro down. He’ll carry this forever, he knows— the guilt of having caused Shiro this pain, for failing to protect him at all. 

Once the transformation completes, once Shiro is no longer anything human, he slumps and stills with one last, weak snarl. His eyes flutter and then fall shut and he collapses. Keith keeps holding him, even once he’s sure Shiro is unconscious, and he trembles all over. He can feel the bond, the pull— knows he’d always want to protect Shiro, but now the need is fiercer, more prominent and primordial.

He dresses Shiro’s wounds, needless as it might be— the smaller ones already closed up—  
and makes sure he’s comfortable. He lets him sleep. 

 

-

 

Keith keeps his arms crossed, unflinching as Kolivan exudes disappointment during their conference call. In reality, it’s taking all of Keith’s energy not to scream back— not to blame all of the Blade for what’s happened to Shiro, for sending them in here underprepared. Shiro’s still sleeping and Keith knows he isn’t going to relax until he sees him move again. 

“Do you have any idea how foolish it was to bind yourself to a vampire?” Kolivan asks. 

Keith narrows his eyes. “I bound myself to _Shiro._ ” 

Kolivan is too straight-faced to be visibly angry, but Keith can tell there’s anger simmering beneath the surface. “You’ve jeopardized the Blade of Marmora by inviting a vampire into the ranks.” 

Keith twitches again, his hands flexing hard where they grip his arms. He can feel his eyes flash Galra yellow for a moment. “Shiro was _already part_ of the Blade and one of our best hunters. That hasn’t changed.” Keith has too much experience staring down authority without flinching and so he presses on, “Why even have this as an option if you’ll immediately reject a Blade who takes it?” 

“It’s designed as a last resort to tie elder vampires to our hunters, _not_ a member of the Blade.” 

Keith deftly ignores that and says, “It’s done. There’s nothing productive about debating whether it was the right or wrong thing. I did it and I’d do it again, every time, if it meant Shiro lives.” 

Kolivan’s mouth thins and he says nothing to that— and then Keith hears his mother’s voice calling out, “Is that Keith?”

She comes into view a moment later, shouldering up to Kolivan. Keith feels his shoulders ease, and just pushes forward— he inherited his mother’s no-nonsense straight-forwardness and there’s no point in sugar-coating: “Shiro was— hurt. I tied him to me.” 

Krolia, at least, doesn’t look shocked. Her eyes widen for half a moment and then she frowns, thoughtfully. Kolivan’s disapproval rolls off him in waves, but Krolia only looks at him. 

Then she says, “I’m not surprised. It’s you.” Keith lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Of course his mother would understand, in the end. Her expression gentles as she looks at him. She asks, “Is he alright? Has he stabilized?” 

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Keith says, gripping his arms tight again. His expression flickers away, glancing over his shoulder, every inch of him yearning to be by Shiro’s side, to protect him. 

“You can’t return here until you’re sure he’s stabilized. If he has cravings for anyone else’s blood, we’ll take him down. He’s your responsibility.” Kolivan’s voice is firm, pulling Keith’s attention back towards the view screen. 

“Did you really expect anything different from him?” Krolia asks Kolivan. She turns towards Keith again, expression sympathetic but firm. “Be careful, Keith.” 

“Roger that,” Keith answers, agitated despite it all, and severs the connection. He stands there even once the video display is gone, feeling shaky. 

They have enough supplies to last them a while— especially now that Keith’s the only one who’ll be consuming the rations. Keith knows little of this ritual he’s undergone, how long it’ll take for Shiro to stabilize. But he’ll do whatever it takes, if it means Shiro will be okay in the end. 

He turns and retreats into the ship, returning to medbay. Shiro’s just beginning to stir and the bottom drops out of Keith’s stomach as he races to his side, popping himself up onto the side of the bed, hovering over him. He leans down and touches Shiro’s face, hand cupping his cheek. 

“Shiro?” he whispers when Shiro lets out a little breath. 

Shiro opens his eyes. They’re a piercing gold for a moment before they adjust to the light and fade back to that familiar grey that Keith knows so dearly. Shiro doesn’t launch at him or start snarling, so that’s already a good sign. He traces his thumb over Shiro’s cheek, holding his breath. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers in response. 

Relief floods through Keith. “Hey,” he whispers, voice wavering. “Hey, you. How are you feeling?” 

Shiro closes his eyes and lets out a small breath. “It’s hard to explain,” Shiro murmurs. “But I feel like myself. As much as I can.” 

Keith lets out a loud breath and nods. “It worked, then.”

Shiro manages a shallow nod. Their relief is palpable as Keith helps Shiro sit up. There was no way to know if this would work— whether Shiro would wake up a mindless vampire or himself again, tied to Keith. 

Keith lingers close. He touches his face, tracing the line of his jaw, the slope of his cheek, the arch of his brow. His new vampire strength’s already knitted up the shallower wounds, and Keith traces the cut across Shiro’s nose. He just keeps doing that, touching over his face— memorizing what he already knows so intimately, just studying his face for any sign of distress. 

“So, how about it? Am I up to muster?” Shiro murmurs around a small smile when Keith’s thumb traces his bottom lip, the curve of his ear. 

Relieved to hear Shiro’s familiar humor, Keith can’t help the small, pained little laugh and leans in to kiss him. Shiro kisses him back for half a moment before he breaks away, turning and ducking his head. Keith’s heart spikes and he reaches for him.

“Sorry,” Shiro whispers. “I— I can hear you. Your blood.” 

Keith’s heart spikes again and his blood sings— reaching out for Shiro, the one he’s bound himself to. Keith’s his only prey. Forever. In the end, it doesn’t feel as weighted as it should— what does it mean to Keith, to bind his life to Shiro ritualistically when he’d bound himself willingly the moment he fell in love with him? 

“You need to eat,” Keith decides, and his body thrums with that knowledge— not just the vampiric magic fueling him on to feed him, but his own desire to protect Shiro, always. 

Shiro shakes his head. “I don’t… want to hurt you. You know how new vampires are— I’ll lose control.”

“You think I’m not strong enough to stop you?” Keith asks. 

“That isn’t what I’m saying and you know it.” Shiro stares down at his hands, where they clasp together, shaking. 

“What other choice do you have? You can only drink from me.” 

Shiro doesn’t answer. Keith can’t blame Shiro for his caution. He’s always been cautious, always been patient, always been nothing but gentle with Keith. That night, so many years ago now, when Shiro confessed his feelings to Keith, he’d kissed Keith so sweetly that Keith was sure he’d melt and never be whole again. Even now, all he can do is be careful with Keith— and Keith can’t imagine just how badly he must be holding himself back in this moment. He and Shiro have seen enough newly born vampires, untethered and overwhelmed by a desire to feed, to know how badly Shiro must be restraining himself. 

And Keith knows, equally as well, that he will always be the one to treat Shiro gently, even when the rest of the world might want Shiro to suffer. He knows, too, that he will always do what he must to make sure Shiro will be safe. Even if that means offering himself—

He signed up for that willingly, the moment he fed Shiro his blood. Truthfully, he signed up for tying his life to Shiro’s the moment they met. 

He touches Shiro’s cheek and forces him to look at him. He leans in closer to him, swallows. He watches Shiro’s nostrils flare, just a little, as he’s hit with the scent of whatever Keith’s feeling, of his blood so close. 

“Shiro,” he whispers. 

Shiro closes his eyes, his jaw clenching. He takes a deep breath, and steadies himself. When he opens his eyes again to look up at Keith, Keith watches the way his eyes bleed into gold. He’s never seen the change up close like this, never seen it in a face so familiar. He looks at Keith, hungry. 

“Drink,” he commands, and Shiro obeys, his mouth pressing to Keith's throat.

It’s a strange feeling, to hold close the person he loves so deeply and yet for his body to tense and resist the feeling of a mouth opening against his throat. So many times Shiro has kissed him here, dragged his teeth down his neck and left little marks. Different now, when Keith can feel sharp fangs pressing against his skin. Keith swallows and lets himself relax, closing his eyes. He cradles the back of Shiro’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. 

“I love you,” he whispers into Shiro’s ear and hears Shiro’s soft, hitching breath as he bites down against Keith’s neck. Keith feels the moment his skin breaks and blood blooms up into Shiro’s mouth. He tips his head back, sucking in a sharp breath. He feels Shiro drag his tongue over his skin, drinking from him. His grip is powerful, tight and otherworldly at his hips. 

It hits him, then, as Shiro drinks— Shiro’s alive, Shiro’s here in his arms. He almost _lost_ Shiro. He was so close to dying, to being gone from him forever and—

Keith shudders, involuntary, as he’s hit with that realization. Keith’s breath hitches, not from pain, but from the fear that lances through him, that realization of just how close Shiro came to being _gone_. Shiro squirms against him, laps his tongue over his skin, drinking from him almost greedily. But Keith would give it all to him, give everything he had, if it meant Shiro would still be alive. He’d give him this, every time, without hesitation— his life bound to Shiro’s; as long as Shiro lives, so will Keith. Their bound blood makes that so. 

Shiro drags more blood from his neck, his fangs scraping over his skin, and Keith lets out a little breath, feels his body responding to that flood of relief. He pulls at Shiro, drags him in closer. He shifts, slides, straddles Shiro’s lap and presses to him, dragging his fingers through his hair. He can see his nails turn to claws, feels himself respond to both the danger and love flooding through him— his senses heighten, his own teeth pointing to fangs, his eyes slitting. He can so rarely control when he slips into Galra, and this time is no different. 

“ _Shiro_ ,” he begs, and isn’t sure what he’s asking for. He rocks his hips forward, desperate, and feels Shiro respond, his hands touching his hips then pulling him in close. He nuzzles at his throat, breathes out shakily, something like Keith’s name. An affirmation. Shiro is alive. Shiro is here. 

Keith yanks him back and presses in to kiss him, drags his teeth over the swell of Shiro’s bottom lip. He bites at his tongue and then sucks it into his mouth like it’s Shiro’s cock, and Shiro groans— hunger and desire mingling, his fingers digging in hard enough to Keith’s hips to bruise, threatening claws. Shiro’s entire body is trembling— still holding himself back, even now. 

Shiro’s still shirtless from where Keith ripped his uniform down, but now Shiro’s hands move purposefully up Keith’s back. It’s familiar, like he might normally touch, in the adrenaline-rush after a successful hunt, after winning— but now Shiro’s hands are stronger, could bend Keith in half in a way he never could before, now they’re pointed with claws that drag through the material as he tries to strip Keith down. 

“Drink,” Keith says again and guides Shiro’s mouth back to his throat. Shiro suctions on, his teeth digging into a new spot, marking him, biting down into him, drinking everything he has to offer. Keith will give and give and give, will always do so. 

Keith squirms, never letting Shiro pull away from his throat, but shifts and shimmies enough to get them both naked, to feel the swell of Shiro’s cock nudge against the curve of his ass. Keith sits back and grinds against him, hand fisted in Shiro’s hair to drag him against his throat, where his pulse kicks up, faster and faster.

“Shiro,” Keith says again, breathless, surer now what he’s asking for— a desperation, a need to assure himself that Shiro is alive, that Shiro is okay, that Shiro is _here_. 

Shiro must feel that same frenzy because his hands are sure against his body, as gentle as he can manage when in the throes of his hunger. Keith rocks his hips forward, lets his cock harden against Shiro’s flexing stomach. 

“I need—” Shiro begins and stops, mouth ghosting against his throat. Keith ducks his head forward and kisses whatever of Shiro he can reach— an ear, his temple, his cheekbone. 

“Please,” Keith tells him. He slaps his hands up above them, fiddling around the consoles above the medbay bed until he can find something to slick them up. 

Their movements are frantic— where before they’ve only been gentle, if hurried, now they move more roughly. Keith slams Shiro up against the wall, hard enough almost to dent, and squirms in his lap, slicks his hand up and slicks it down Shiro’s cock, pulls desperate sounds from Shiro. 

Shiro tips away from Keith’s neck, looks drunk on it all. His eyes swim and shimmer, gold and magic and desire, love and relief. Keith squeezes his cock and Shiro groans, his fangs glinting as he bits at his lip. Keith’s hand slides from base to tip, curls around the cockhead, squeezes once. 

“Want you inside me,” Keith tells him. 

“Bite me, too,” Shiro interrupts, eyes gold and wild, “Please. Keith— I’m yours.” 

He can’t begin to imagine what this has all done to Shiro— so close to being lost, transformed so fundamentally, the weight of Keith’s life in his hands, the blood in his mouth. He looks at Keith and the desperation there is so distant from the animalistic hunger of his transformation. He is still the kind and gentle man he fell in love with. He’s still Shiro. 

Keith wants to protest— _yours, I’m yours_ — but he also can’t resist a direct request from Shiro, such a plea. His fangs bite into Shiro’s lip and tugs. Shiro holds back a whimper as Keith bites once and then draws away. Shiro looks almost like he’ll plead again— but Keith ducks down and bites down hard on Shiro’s neck, hard enough to mark. He pierces skin and bites down hard, latching on, his tongue pressing against the expanse of Shiro’s skin. He pulls back and bites again, bites hard up Shiro’s neck, marking him again and again. Shiro lets out a helpless whimper, body rising. Keith bites and holds against Shiro’s neck, breathing heavy. 

They’ve always belonged to one another, and this just proves it in its own way. Keith will always rise to meet Shiro, will always do what he can to make Shiro happy, safe, protected—

Shiro pulls on his hair, and it’s just on the edge of stinging. His hands are frenzied against Keith’s body and he keeps rocking his cock up into the circle of Keith’s fist. Keith slicks them up, fingers himself open haphazardly. Shiro would normally take his time, would ply Keith open until he was sobbing to come, but they move too quickly now. Keith is perfunctory in preparing himself, tipping forward to kiss and bite at Shiro’s mouth, his jaw, his neck. Shiro whimpers in his ear and licks a long stripe up the column of Keith’s neck, tasting his blood. 

When Shiro slips inside of him, fills him up, Keith grips him tight and kisses him, can taste blood and Shiro’s lips, rocks his hips forward and rides him hard. He feels Shiro’s cock slide deep inside him, swivels his hips and feels Shiro’s cock pulse. He moans, softly, whispers Shiro’s name and bites at his lip, not enough to puncture but so Shiro can feel the sting, so Shiro can feel _alive._

“I’m yours,” Shiro whispers, and it’s almost a cry, so quiet it’s nearly lost. Keith lets out a mournful sound and bites his neck, reiterating those words. His. 

The medbay smells like sex and blood, and Keith can only imagine what it must smell like to Shiro, with new senses so heightened it might bump against overwhelming. Keith can feel the blood sliding down his neck and Shiro leans forward, bites down at his shoulders, his collarbones, marks him up and pierces skin. He can feel his own blood singing, as if yearning to reach out to Shiro. Maybe he always has. 

He kisses Shiro sweeter, breathing heavily and letting Shiro’s fangs scrape against his bottom lip. He rides him, feels stretched and full, and his hands are tight against Shiro’s body even as he paws at him, pets his fingers over him, desperate to touch every living inch of Shiro’s body— his, and alive, and _safe_ and suddenly staring down an eternity with him by his side. Always. 

When Keith comes, it’s with a loud cry of Shiro’s name, Shiro’s mouth pressed to the wound at his neck again, drinking him down. He feels light-headed, from sex and adrenaline, and his own lifeforce flowing into Shiro. He’d offer it all. Everything about it. Shiro’s hand is around Keith’s cock, pulling and twisting, slick with Keith’s come. Keith rocks up into his hand, craving more, craving the friction and touch and proof—

He moans out again when he feels Shiro’s own hips jerk up against him, swivel and circle in desperate little shudders. When Shiro comes, he feels it inside him, familiar and comforting, and he slumps against Shiro even as he rides it out, gripping him tight, offers himself to Shiro, unconditionally and eternally. Shiro is so full inside of him, Keith stretched out around his cock, slumped in his lap. Shiro’s hands cup his ass and hold him there as he rocks into him. 

When they’re panting, pressed together still, Shiro going soft inside him, Keith can only touch his face, trace the pad of his thumb across Shiro’s bottom lip, the pointed line of his fangs. Shiro lets him explore, breath warm against his fingertips, eyes fading back to grey. He fumbles around and manages to pick up a discarded hypo-spray. 

Keith nearly bats it away, movements sluggish and lazy. “No,” he whispers. “Let them stay.” 

Shiro makes a sound, like he’s about to protest, but Keith splays his fingers over his mouth and then chases them, kissing him quiet. 

Keith is exceptionally gentle as he touches Shiro’s face, traces each inch— more for the sake of touching him than anything else, to affirm that he’s here. 

“I can feel everything,” Shiro says, voice quiet. “Your heartbeat. What you’re feeling, I think.”

“Mm,” Keith agrees. It’s what they know of the creatures they hunt, and knows it’ll take Shiro an adjustment. He brushes the patch of white hair out of Shiro’s face. “Are you still hungry?”

Shiro shakes his head. “I’m alright, Keith. Save your strength.” 

“… I was afraid you’d tell me something stupid like how I should have let you die,” Keith says, when he really means _I thought you’d hate me for doing this to you._

Shiro shakes his head and squirms closer, hugging Keith tight and pressing his face into his shoulder. “You— you saved me.”

Keith wants to shake his head, to protest, to assure him that it was not a sacrifice, it was nothing he wouldn’t give a thousand times over. But instead, he just presses his face into Shiro’s hair and holds him back, squeezing him tight. 

“I promised you, didn’t I? I’ll always protect you.” 

Shiro’s quiet, aside from a small hitch of his breath, and he squeezes Keith tight. Keith bows into him, curled around him protectively. Never letting go.

**Author's Note:**

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